Terrence Taylor croaked aloud. He should have stayed at T.G.I.F.
“I’ll bet you’re dead now,” Kyle remarked.
For good measure, he gave the knife a couple of quick, hard jiggles. Then he withdrew it and went back to fileting the legs on the opposing prep table. He was whistling “Sweetest Legs I Ever Did See” by Robert Johnson.
— | — | —
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
He’s here, Vera thought.
Or at least his car was. At once, butterflies careened in her stomach. In less than a minute, I’ll be talking to him. I’ll be standing right in front of him. Paul.
This realization caused a surge of the most unpleasant dread. A thousand excuses came to mind, to get out of it, but then she remembered what Donna had advised. Until she gave herself the chance to have her final word, she’d never be at peace, she’d never get the memory fully out of her psyche. As unnerved as she was, Vera knew there was no other way.
She parked the Lamborghini in the apartment lot, sat a moment, then got out. The cold chafed her, wisping down her chest through her collar despite her efforts to keep it clasped shut. She looked up at the apartment, and felt hollow…
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about anything, she insisted to herself. Just go up there, get your stuff, tell him he’s an asshole, and leave.
The long drive from Waynesville back to the city had been neutral and numb, despite the initial scenery and open, winding roads. What would her reaction be, seeing Paul again for the first time in months, for the first time since…
The hideous ménage à trois played in her mind, and the look in Paul’s eyes when he’d glanced up from the bed. An expression empty of recognition, empty of any sort of care whatsoever.
She seemed to be shoving against a great, invisible weight when she walked up the steps. Full minutes passed while she stood at the front door, staring at it. Should she knock? She should let herself in with her key? Maybe Paul wasn’t alone—
Maybe he’s in there right now with one of his drug-head perverted little girlfriends, she considered.
God. That was one scenario she didn’t even want to think about much less see again.
Then her mind strayed. Maybe I should forget about this. I’ll just tell Donna that I told him off. What good will any of this really do? It’s not necessary. It’s stupid.
But then another, more sensible voice screamed at her. Bullshit, Vera! You’re going to go in there! Right now! You’re not going to chicken out!
All right, all right, she agreed with herself. She withdrew her key, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
She expected a mess, and contrived den of drugs and iniquity, but when she stepped into the living room, it looked exactly as she remembered it: neat and tidy, everything in its place. What do I do now? she wondered. She felt imbecilic standing there. Just walk down the hall, go into the bedroom, and get it over with.
She turned, took one step into the hall—
Paul nearly walked into her.
“Dammit, Paul!” Vera yelled. “You scared the shit out of me!”
Paul had turned out of the hall just as she had turned into it. The moment held him in a mute shock. He blinked hard and stared—then rejoiced: “Vera! You’re back!”
“Yeah, I’m back to get my things,” she said, and brushed by him. “And that’s it.” She stormed into the bedroom, expecting to see evidence of Paul’s decadent secret life, but the bedroom, like the rest of the apartment, was clean and orderly. Come to think of it, Paul himself looked…normal, she considered. Dressed in jeans and the typical flannel shirt he wore when he wrote. He looked like the Paul she’d always known, not a sadomasochistic drug denizen she’d seen the last time she was in this room.
Paul jabbered as he scampered behind her. “Vera, Vera! I’ve been looking all over for you! We really need to talk!”
“No, Paul. We don’t need to talk, I need to talk.” She traipsed about the room, but, now that she was here, she really couldn’t think of anything she wanted. So just say what you came here to say, she resolved.
“You’re a deceitful, cheating scumbag, Paul,” she said, staring him down. “I can’t believe what you did to me, and by now I don’t even care—”
“But—but—” Paul stammered.
“And that’s really all I came here to say Paul. You’re a—”
“But Vera!”
“—lecherous, disgraceful—”
“Please, listen to me!”
“—disgusting—”
“Vera! No!”
“—piece of shit.”
They faced each other then, in thickening silence. That should shut him up, Vera thought. Watch. Next I’ll bet he’ll say something really original, like ‘You don’t understand’ or ‘Let me explain.’ What a pathetic schmuck.
“I know what you must think, and I know how you feel,” he began.
“No, you don’t!” she spat back. She rummaged through the closet, then the dresser. All her old things refaced her now, but they seemed tainted, poisoned. She didn’t even want them anymore. “You don’t know how I feel, and you don’t give a shit anyway,” she finished.
Paul tremored in place. “Vera, at least let me explain.”
Vera laughed. Yes, so predictable. “What’s to explain, Paul?” Then she marched out of the bedroom and back down the hall. “But since you’re so talkative, tell me this? How long were you cheating on me?’’
He followed her, frantic. “Vera, I never cheated on you! I swear it!”
She had to look at him in the utmost incredulity. His audacity astounded her. “Oh, and you were just playing hopscotch with those two girls I caught you with… Well, one of them was a girl. I don’t know what the other one was.”
Paul’s face appeared corrugated as he groped for words. “Please, Vera, listen to me, I’m begging you. I don’t remember much about what happened that night but—”
“Um-hum, and let me guess. You smoke marijuana too, but you never inhale.”
“I know what I did was wrong, but, really, Vera, it wasn’t my fault.’’
“Oh, so whose fault was it then? The girls? They put a gun to your head and forced you to have sex with them? They made you snort cocaine? Is that it?’’
“I don’t even think it was cocaine, I don’t know what it was. I was sick for days afterwards,” Paul yammered. “But at least hear me out, Vera. Please—”
Vera crossed her arms, smirking. “All right, Paul. I’ll give you one minute.”
Paul sat down on the couch, pushed his hair off his brow. “That night, you remember—I went to Kaggies to do my piece on the downtown singles scene. Those two girls showed up, and I swear I never saw them before, and, yes, I started talking to them. But I never had any intention of…you know—”
“Of fucking them,” Vera assisted. “While I was at work.”
“It’s not like that at all,” he pleaded. “All I did was have a drink with them. I wanted to talk with them, I wanted to hear their perceptions about singles bars and stuff. Next thing I know we’re back here, and all kinds of weird stuff is happening. I didn’t know what I was doing, I wasn’t myself at all. I think—I think they must’ve put something in my drink.’’